


Prettiest After the Fall

by lrhaboggle



Category: Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008), The Devil's Carnival (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Devil's Carnival, Lucifer - Freeform, Repo - Freeform, Shilo - Freeform, Wick - Freeform, blind mag - Freeform, the genetic opera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 07:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14184051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lrhaboggle/pseuds/lrhaboggle
Summary: Mag thought for sure that her death would free her from the Devil's clutches. If anything, it only pushed her deeper into them.





	1. Prettiest After the Fall

Mag was euphoric. Those cursed eyes which had kept her chained to GeneCo for so long were finally destroyed. Even better, she'd destroyed them herself! After so long, she was finally free to do what she had wanted to do for years and years on end. Once she had finished singing her little swan song, she gouged those cursed eyes out, crushing them away into nothingness, her own grip on those eyes as hateful and powerful as GeneCo's grip on her had been. Mag had grinned like a madwoman, celebrating her freedom and triumph as those perfect little orbs became nothing more than a mushy mass of nothingness. She kept on squeezing, even after they had been obliterated. She was free! She won!

The ex-singer for GeneCo was totally deaf to the crowd below her. They cried out in terror and horror, for they had just witnessed their beloved Voice of GeneCo mutilate herself. A mix of grief and sympathy filled all of their hearts, but Mag did not care. In fact, she hardly noticed at all. Whatever they felt for her, or for her actions, was something she did not even consider. For once, she was only thinking about herself, and she was in paradise! Contrary to what the masses thought, Mag had never felt better, never felt freer. Just like the bird in her song! After so long enslaved, Mag had finally thrown off the golden chains that bound her to this sinful earth and she was free to fly amongst the Heavens again.

Suddenly, however, something changed. Mag felt herself fall. Where she once had been flying, suspended in midair by a complex set of cables and harnesses, there was suddenly nothing but gravity. She wasn't quite sure how those harnesses had failed her, but a tiny part of her mind was already blaming her cruel and monstrous boss. No doubt, he had done something to cause them to fail, to cause her to fall, but she would never know for sure though, because the fall was stopped rather abruptly by a spiked fence right beneath her. She died upon impact, one of the barbs of the fence skewering right through her. The triumphant and liberated smile was still frozen upon her bloody and eyeless face.

Hours later, the poor fools who were assigned to clean up Mag's corpse could only stare in horror and confusion at that smile, still etched upon her face. They simply could not understand why Mag was so happy. Why was she smiling after suffering such a horrible and painful death? Well, had Mag been able to, she would've replied with 6 simple words:

"It's always prettiest after the fall."

But although Mag's time on Earth was done, her time in existence was not. Not even close. Instead, the eyeless woman woke up again, though this world was cast in total darkness. The moment she woke up, although she had no idea where she was at all, she could already sense that this place was some place new to her. And it wasn't just new in the sense that it was a world to which she had never traveled before, but that it was a place entirely beyond her previous realm of existence. This might've seemed like an outrageous conjecture, but Mag was certain she was in another world entirely. Maybe it was just the atmosphere, but Mag knew for sure that neither she, nor anybody else she knew, had been here before.

"Hello?" she tried at once as she came to. "Is anyone there?" she waited for a reply, but nothing. This new, strange world was as quiet as it was dark. But then suddenly, just as Mag prepared to call out once more, a stage light illuminated her world. Suddenly, she could see. And at the same time the light illuminated her eyes, memories illuminated her mind. After only being aware of her existence in a new location, she could suddenly remember all of the events that led to her being here. She remembered everything! Her birth, her blindness, the surgery that cured it, the slavery that followed the surgery, and the brutal death she'd forced upon herself in order to escape the bondage. All of it came back to her in that one split second of literal and figurative illumination...

But wait a minute! Hadn't she gouged her eyes out right before she died? If that were the case, why was she suddenly able to see again? Had someone give her more new eyes? Or was she going crazy? Both were equally likely at this point. Mag carefully raised a hand and traced her fingers across her eyelids. There was nothing behind them. Her eyes were still gone. And she thought she could even feel what must've been dried blood right at the rims of her eyes. So she really had gouged them out... But then, why was she able to see? What was going on? Who had given her this gift of sight again? This was impossible...

"You don't need eyes to see," a voice suddenly answered her thoughts. "Didn't they call you 'Blind Mag' despite your functional eyes?"

"Who are you?" Mag asked warily, dropping her hand from her eye (socket) in surprise. Despite the spotlight's glare, it did not reach very far in width and she was unable to see the man talking to her. She had assumed she was alone, so to hear his voice caught her very off guard. His voice was low and smooth, and he didn't sound evil or threatening, but Mag wasn't stupid enough to believe he was entirely harmless. She was alert at once, already tensed in case this man meant her harm.

"The better question is, who are you?" came the reply. He fell silent and Mag assumed she was supposed to answer. She really wasn't in the mood for philosophical questions such as this, but she figured she wasn't in a place to bargain so she went along with it. She had a feeling she was going to be here awhile anyway.

"You've answered it yourself," she said. "I'm Blind Mag."

"Are you really?" the voice asked again, enunciating the last word.

Despite herself, Mag shuddered a little. In that one simple question, Mag realized that she just might be dealing with someone who knew her better than anyone else, even her own self. She managed to force out another reply, taking this question of identity a bit more seriously. She still had no idea who she was talking to, but she sensed that he had an immense and unimaginable power behind him. She didn't exactly want to put that to the test, especially not right now.

"I used to be," she amended, voice serious now.

"Then who are you now?" the voice asked again, still unreadable as ever.

"I don't know," Mag confessed.

"But I do," the voice replied sincerely, then he felt silent yet again.

Mag knew he wanted her to ask. He wanted her to play into his hand, succumb to her curiosity, and ask him. She thought she could even feel a kind of smug pride radiating off of where he must've been. He wanted this. He wanted her to play his game, to submit to him. This was only the first of his little tests. Would she take the bait, cave, and ask? No. She didn't want to. She didn't want to know the answer to this particular question. Not anymore. Besides, it seemed that all of the other identities she had claimed over her life had all ended in tragedy. Her very first identity was a common blind girl. Not very fun. The second, her more famous one, was a worker for the Devil himself.

"And so you shall be again," the voice rumbled with a hint of sadistic humor, reading Mag's thoughts again.

"What do you mean?" Mag asked, hoping that whoever it was didn't mean what she was starting to think he meant.

"You are The Songbird," the man replied. "I have seen you in life, I know you will do well in this role. You will sing for me, my angel of music."

"So I suppose you'll want me to sing your praises so you can lure people to their eternal punishment?" Mag laughed bitterly. So she was in Hell. And this was the Devil. Mag supposed it was all she deserved now. And what better way to torture her than to force her to die the way she lived?

"No. You'll be singing to warn them away from the liars of the world who would lead them to death," the Devil replied. This threw Mag for a loop. Wasn't this supposed to be her punishment? Then why did the Devil sound like he really wanted her to help save the condemned? "But they will not listen here either," he added almost ruefully.

"Then why bother?" Mag snorted, too used to life's horrors to pity those who didn't heed the evil around them. Though she still didn't understand why she was being offered this spot in Hell, her dark sense of humor still lived on and she was not scared of the man before her. Not after she had served someone just like him for 17 years in a row.

"Why not?" came the reply. Mag could almost hear the smirk in his voice again. "I am giving you a chance to do as you have always wished. How long have you wanted your voice to speak words of truth and warning instead of honeyed lies? How long have you wanted to give your sight to the blind? Will you really turn your back on that desire now that it is finally within your grasp?" the Devil trailed off temptingly.

"But if they won't listen, I'll just lose them anyway," Mag argued. Finally, something akin to sadness entered her voice. Hardened as her heart was, Mag was not incapable of genuine empathy for the lost. The idea of trying to save people from their sins was a tempting one, as the Devil was proposing, as counter to theology as that seemed. But if it was true that no one would heed her warnings, would she be able to bear the constant disappointment of losing every person she ever met? Would she be able to bear an eternity of failed salvations after failing to survive 17 years?

"Perhaps I misspoke. Not every person who hears your song will be lost," the Devil amended. "And if it is a companion you are craving, then I shall give you one," he added. Suddenly, the sound of something fluttering echoed the dark chamber in which Mag and the Devil were speaking in. A black mass of feathers landed gracefully on Mag's shoulder and as it settled down, Mag got a better look at it. It was a large blackbird of some kind. It cawed at her as her eyeless sockets inspected it.

"But why me?" Mag asked finally. "What's so special about me? Why did you choose me? Why do you want me? And what about the others? I wasn't worried about my own companionship, I meant to ask what will happen to those who don't listen to me? Do you really think they'll get used to an eternity in a place like this?" Mag gestured helplessly to the all-encompassing darkness that surrounded both herself and the Devil. Meanwhile, she couldn't help but wonder once more how anyone, even herself, could survive forever in a place like this. She had barely lasted 17 years of imprisonment on Earth, but if Hell was eternal...?

"I chose you simply because I chose you," the Devil replied in response to the first slew of Mag's question. "There is nothing special about you except that which I choose to make special."

"And the others?" Mag demanded.

"They will get used to it, because it is all they have," Mag could almost hear the shrug in the Devil's voice and she couldn't help but find herself deeply unsatisfied with the answer. So that was it? One way or the other, this was it? This was the final stop? Take it or leave it, this was it? There was something too defeating about that idea that regardless of one's own desires, this was the very last stop. It reminded her too much of her time under GeneCo, but at least then, escape had been an option. But now?

"That sounds horrible," Mag murmured at last, disgust fading into pity, sadness and hopelessness.

"Perhaps. But you will get used to it too," the Devil promised, as though to reassure her.

"How can you be so sure?" Mag asked tiredly. The blackbird on her shoulder cawed once more and huddled closer to its new mistress.

"Because," the Devil replied. "It's always prettiest after the fall…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Got inspired to write this after watching Alleluia and noting parallels between Heaven and GeneCo and thinking that Mag literally took a fall from Grace in order to free herself from God/Rotti. Of course, that pun of "After the Fall" regarding Mag's Fall culminated in this little fic wherein Mag joins the Carnival. (I imagine their meeting to look like the into to "In All My Dreams I Drown" where it's just the Devil talking to the newest Carnival member in the darkened ring, just one on one and face to face (sort of, since it's dark)).
> 
> Edit: As of 9/19/18, I updated this story because inquiete brought it to my attention again and I realized how crappy the grammar was. In my defense, I wrote this story in like my freshman year of high school. I've gotten better since and am trying to fix it up again. Nothing really changed, I just made it a tad longer, better and cleaner. Thanks again to inquiete for reading! You're the best!


	2. Songbird

Songbird had adapted well to life in the Devil's Carnival. True, being a member of this mad circus hadn't exactly been what she'd had in mind when she imagined her afterlife, but this really wasn't half bad! Just as the Devil predicted, with enough time, she had become accustomed to this new life. Her main job was to punish those too possessed by worldly and material things. She punished the sinners unable to let go of petty obsessions and vices. Her attraction was simple. It was a ladder climb. All a guest had to do was reach the top of her attraction by way of a series of twisting ropes. What made the game difficult was the fact that the sinners who stumbled into this part of Songbird's attraction were often, by this point, stuffed with other things they'd received in earlier parts of the carnival. Some of these things were clearly unnecessary, such as jewelry or "awards" for other "achievements", while others appeared necessary but really weren't, such as weaponry or an extra layer of clothes or two, acting a bit like armor. To those unable to sacrifice these tools, a fall or strangulation within the ropes was next. To those who were willing to give up their things, the climb became much swifter and easier. It was not hard to reach the sky when one wasn't weighed down by petty things.

Despite this simple fact, however, the rate of success within this attraction was quite low. Songbird and her songbird, named Chromaggia now, would sing to the guests, warning them of the traps that lay within the ropes. They would offer up rules and suggestions in lyrical prose but a scarce few would ever listen. Despite their attempts, both Songbird and her companion, Chromaggia, lost scores of sinners to this simple task. Apparently, letting go of material things was harder than it sounded. But Songbird was so used to seeing such pathetic and selfish sights that losing another sinner was hardly cause for her pity anymore. It served them right for lacking that will to live. If they honestly valued their items over their lives, their blood was upon their own hands. She was only there to remind them that true humanity and value was not placed in objects or things but it was a lesson that fell upon deaf ears, though that was not her concern.

But at one point in time, Songbird found herself entirely alone. For once, her attraction was not being used. For once, she was not being used in a later performance. Instead, she was free to roam the carnival, not that there was much else to do. But it was a welcome change of scenery so she, with Chromaggia on her shoulder like always, left her maze of rope and moved outward towards the Midway.

The walk was actually quite nice, quiet and peaceful, but then the sound of shrieking laughter echoed the Midway and neither Songbird nor Chromaggia needed to turn around in order to know who was coming. It was the Woe-Maidens. All three of them were cavorting over and once they were all together, the Woe-Maidens piled on top of Songbird in a very messy hug. It was almost like a strangle-hold. They laughed madly as they complimented her on one of her previous performances.

"That was so much fun to watch!" they shrieked and cackled. "That idiot! Did you see the way the ropes choked her! And she was just twitching there! Hahahahahaha!" the trio continued to recount the performance while Songbird only gave them a weary smile, waiting for them to let her go from this death-hug. Chromaggia had since taken flight from Songbird's shoulder and was watching the proceedings in amusement from a safe distance above the hyena-like clown posse.

This chummy embrace from Hell's wildest carnies came to an end when a fourth clown girl made her way across the Midway, strutting slowly where the other three had pranced and danced.

"Alright, ladies, that's enough!" the fourth girl sighed. The Woe-Maidens obediently let Songbird go at once, but they were still stifling giggles. Songbird rubbed her neck in relief before turning to look at this new girl. As Songbird inspected the fourth clown, she couldn't help but be struck by the fact that something was oddly familiar about her...

"Ah! You're the newbie," the fourth girl sing-songed in a voice that was mocking, yet still held a hint of honest interest. She inspected Songbird as intensely as Songbird inspected her.

"I am," Songbird replied demurely.

"Well, pleased to meet ya! The name's Wick!" the fourth clown girl said, giving Songbird a lopsided grin and thrusting a gloved hand forward to shake. Songbird took the hand gingerly and Wick smiled at her, red lips seeming to stretch even wider than usual. "I don't think I've seen you around before, except for your performances, but I garner that you know who these are?" she asked, gesturing to her other three friends.

"Sort of," Songbird replied, turning back to the Woe-Maidens who had, for some reason, found this response funny and started to laugh yet again.

What followed was a short introduction, courtesy of Wick, wherein she explained who the three clown girls were and who she was in relation to them. Songbird listened intently, but there was still a vague sense of familiarity that she couldn't place. On top of listening to Wick talk about herself, Songbird was trying to put the pieces together as to who Wick reminded her of and she was trying to figure out if any part of Wick's carnival act might shed some light on this situation. So far, nothing had come up, and Songbird was totally stumped as to why Wick seemed so familiar, but at the same time, it wasn't just a petty sense of déjà vu. It was far too deep and real for her to ignore and she could only continue to think, fairest wheels turning, as Wick continued to speak.

What Songbird didn't know, however, was that she was not the only one feeling this strange sense of déjà vu. It was mutual, and Wick was feeling it as well. She had not intended upon speaking to Songbird for this long, if at all, but of course when the Woe-Maidens saw her walking out all by her lonesome in the carnival, they simply had to "cheer her up" with a good old-fashioned strangle-hug and then they were off before Wick could even protest the idea. This left her to sigh and follow after her merry little trio, like a parent after unruly and wild children, and then to reign them back in once they'd had their fun. It was at that moment, however, when Wick finally got to see Songbird up close and personal, that the first spark of remembrance entered her mind. Although she could not place it either, she was certain that she had known the Songbird once before...

After the introductions had died off, Wick and Songbird continued to stare intently at one another before Wick finally spoke up.

"Woe-Maidens, I just remembered that I must have a few important words with our newest addition to the acts, so if you will all be so kind as to leave us alone for a moment?" Wick tilted her head as her question trailed off.

"Awwww! Do we have to? We only just met her!" all three of the Woe-Maidens began to protest and plead that they be allowed to stay.

"Now, now, surely you can't think that this will be fun?" Wick sounded incredulous. Songbird seemed slightly offended by this remark, but she remained silent as Wick continued to speak to her girl posse. "Why don't you go play a prank on Magician, m'kay?" she asked. This seemed to brighten the Woe-Maidens' spirits at once because the last word of this command had barely left Wick's painted lips before the trio up and running towards Magician's tent, howling laughter echoing across the Midway even after they were out of sight.

As soon as Wick was sure they were out of earshot, however, she turned to address Songbird once more.

"It seems to me we may have met," she said, voice suddenly serious and polite, totally different from the almost gooey tone she used on her girls.

"I feel the same," Songbird replied honestly, understanding the significance of Wick's little shift in mannerism. "Yet I can't place it. Where have I seen you before? Do you remember me at all?"

"No. But maybe a walk around the carnival will bring something back to us?" Wick suggested and with nothing else in mind or on schedule, Songbird agreed and the two carnies began their little trip down Hell's Midway, just talking and trying to unravel the mystery...

"Mag?" Wick finally squeaked in awe, stopping in her tracks. After almost half an hour of recounting as much as they could, Songbird finally had given enough of her story for it to finally resonate with Wick. Songbird was a singer who had killed herself after declaring that she was no longer going to work for the company that employed her. Her reasons for leaving were never made public, but Songbird now confessed that it was because the man running the business was a monster in human form, no morals, respect or decency anywhere within him. She had left to escape him, and this was her one way out. The irony of that time as compared to now was not missed by either of them but Wick had come to a realization that overshadowed that irony. In the foggy remains of her memory, Wick was certain that she had known and idolized a singer who met her death at the hands of a well-planned murder as well. Finally, it clicked.

"Blind Mag!" Wick repeated herself, this time with more certainty.

"How do you know me?" Songbird asked in genuine surprise, wondering if this girl was an old fan of hers. How else would she have known that name? For Songbird, the name "Blind Mag" was a dead name, something never once spoken by anyone other than herself and Lucifer upon her very first day in Hell. After that, those words all but vanished from existence, so to hear them again with such awe and certainty was a little jarring. Songbird waited tensely for Wick's reply. Wick, meanwhile, inhaled deeply before giving a timid response.

"How do I put this? I'm your… Goddaughter."

"Shilo?" now it was Songbird's turn to reach that stunned realization, that impossible epiphany. Now it was Songbird who could only gasp and stare in disbelief, but at the same time, she knew it was true. Somehow, this girl, this insane little carnival clown, was her own goddaughter, Shilo Wallace, daughter of her late best friend, Marni Wallace. As Mag had yet to see Marni (or her husband, Shilo's father), she could only assume that the two of them had been good and pure enough to get to Heaven. Or perhaps they, too, were in Hell, but had yet to reunite with Shilo or Mag.

Either way, Mag was so genuinely stunned to see Shilo, and here of all places, that she could only reach out silently to touch her face. When words failed her and when she could hardly believe her eyes or ears, Mag resorted to touch and placed a gently palm on Shilo's painted face. Her face was warm and soft, smooth and small. Mag, at once, was reminded of something very fragile, yet also very powerful, paradoxical as that seemed. All Mag could do was stare in awe at this strange happenstance. And as she continued to touch her goddaughter, Shilo nuzzled into her hand and reciprocated gladly, caressing Mag's cheek and hand with her own. It was a very intense reunion despite how outwardly quiet it was. Then at last, the two were embracing, earnest arms wrapping around eager bodies. This was something they should've done many, many years ago.

There really were no words for the turmoil of emotions the two were experiencing, but no words were needed. Instead, as they embraced, they allowed the bittersweet pain of a reunion in Hell to wash over them. After 17 years and a lot of agony, the two friends who should have been were finally given their chance. They continued hug and caress, getting acquainted and reuniting at the same time. Chromaggia, meanwhile, watched the scene with something of a grin on its beak, hovering far enough away to give the old friends a chance at reunion, yet close enough to hear every exchange. From that point on, if a sinner ever wound up in Hell and managed to fall right into the silver talons of Songbird and Chromaggia, they might also find themselves facing a very special guest in the form of the Songbird's goddaughter, Wick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Going off of the last chapter where I do a Repo/TDC crossover inspired off of Mag's Fall vs After the Fall, I wanted a Mag and Shilo reunion, so here we go. Of course, I know how unrealistic this headcanon of Mag and Shilo both being carnies is, but it was still a fun idea, I think. In regard to Mag's specific job in Hell, as the story states, she punishes those unable to let go of worldly matters because it was something she struggled with herself for 17 years before finally opting to let go. You all know what I'm referring to. In addition, her job is loosely based upon the Aesop Fable "The Peacock and the Crane". In addition, as with the last chapter, I'm polishing it up. (Thanks again inquiete!)


End file.
